Never Let Go
by GeorgiaB290
Summary: Rose promised to never let go.  And a year after the Titanic sank, she still hasn't.  But when Rose meets Michael Calvert, another victim of the Titanic disaster, will all of that change?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hi, people! I know I already have a current fanfiction going on, **_**Never Let Go**_, **but this idea just popped into my head and I just **_**had**_** to write it! **** Please give me reviews; I love hearing what the readers think! St. Barnabas Hospital in NYC is real (I looked it up), but the doctor is fictional. This is somewhat short, but I hope you like it! ~Georgia**

Jack's POV

I opened my eyes.

Infirmary attendants loomed above me, looking down at my face in concern. I felt needles prodding at me. I felt unnaturally and excessively cold. Something wasn't right. I made an attempt to sit upright.

Immediately, nurses came running, saying, "No, Mr. Dawson, no!" and gently pushing me back down into my pillow. For some strange reason, every single one of those nurses seemed to have curly, fiery red hair and piercing green eyes,

A doctor walked up to me. "Hello, Jack," he greeted, as if he were my friend and I'd known him forever. "How are we doing today?" the man asked, adjusting a bag with a long tube connected to my arm.

A befuddled look dawned across my face. "Where am I? What happened, and who are you?" I rasped. My voice was strangely rough, as if it hadn't been used in a long time.

The man looked at me seriously. "Jack, you are in St. Barnabas Hospital in New York City. You have just awakened from a coma caused by hypothermia, and you have been in our care for about three weeks now. However, you have been awaking on and off for the past few days. I am Dr. David Johnson," Johnson explained.

"Oh. Okay, it's all coming back to me now," he lied.

Johnson nodded and continued fixing the bag. When he was finished, he nodded. "Good. Here's the TV remote; the television's up there," he said, pointing towards a strange, shiny, thin black rectangle that was protruding from the wall. Johnson placed another, smaller black rectangle with buttons on it in my hand. The buttons had numbers, and words like "Guide", "Exit", "Info", and "Mute". In the center were multiple buttons with a number from 1 to 9 on each. I was completely clueless. TV remote? Television? _America is certainly strange nowadays. Extremely different since I was here last_, I thought.

Aiming the "TV remote" at the "television", I pressed a red button labeled "On", wondering what it would do. Immediately, the thin black rectangle on the wall lit up, and there were_ people_ on the rectangle! Real, live people on this black thing called a television. It was like watching a moving picture. I kept hitting these arrows, and the realistic moving pictures on the so-called "television" kept changing. I stopped on a moving picture with the words "The Today Show" at the bottom.

A lady with dark hair was on the television. She said with a smile, "Good morning everyone! Today is Sunday, April 15th, 2012-" What? _2012?_ "—7:00am! I'm Ann Curry, here with Matt Lauer, on The Today Show."

Well, I had no idea who Ann Curry or Matt Lauer was, but I knew that I was somehow 100 years into the future. And that I was in New York City. In some place called St. Barnabas Hospital, under the care of some guy named Dr. David Johnson.

And, worst of all, I had had no idea where Rose was.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks for all the great reviews and criticism! I love hearing what my readers think of my writing. This is my first fanfiction, so I admit I was surprised at all the good comments! **** Oh, and sorry I took so long to write! I wanted to make it as interesting and emotion-stirring as I could, especially at the end.**

Rose looked at Michael from across the table over a cup of steaming coffee.

"So, Rose," he began. Rose braced herself for the question. "Who did you lose on Titanic?"

She gulped. "My, er, mother, fiancée', and a good friend," she said, not telling the whole truth. She had, indeed, never seen her mother again, nor did she see her former-fiancée, Caledon Hockley, after their near-confrontation on the rescue ship, and she did lose Jack, in some ways the closest friend she'd ever had, and much more. But for some reason, she didn't tell that to Michael.

In an attempt to comfort Rose, Michael leaned across the table and put a consoling hand over top of hers. "I am very sorry," he murmured, looking as if he meant every word. Although her mind was screaming at her, Rose couldn't help feeling a warm, tingling sensation when Michael had put his hand upon hers. Not nearly as strong as Jack's touch, but still...

She shook away the thought. _Never let go. Never._

"Thank you. It... It means a lot to me," she responded.

They were seated in a cozy yet temporary hotel room. He was only planning to stay, Michael had explained, a couple of days. _"Setting out for the horizon; going wher'er my feet decide to take me,"_ he had said. He reminded her of Jack.

Changing the subject, she asked, "And what do you do for a living, Mr. Calvert?"

Michael smiled. "I'm into the arts. I play the fiddle and the guitar and the flute." _Jack would've liked him. _Rose took a sip of her coffee. "Fascinating," she replied enthusiastically.

"And you, Rose?"

Rose was unsure how to answer his question. "I... make each day count," she recited, planning out her next words. "Freelance. I pick up side-jobs here and there when I need them, but I was a... wealthy girl before Titanic, and I still have a good bit left. In the meantime, I just do what I care. I love waking up in the morning, not knowing where I'm going to wind up. I figure that life is a gift, and I don't intend on wasting it." Jack's presence was overwhelming her. She didn't know where the words came from, but she recognized them, and stuck to them.

Michael nodded, seeming deeply impressed. "Well said, Rose. Very."

To be truthful, technically, she hadn't had any money from her past days. What she _did_ have, however, was the Heart of the Ocean, which she'd sold soon after discovering it. It had held too many harsh memories, she'd decided. With the diamond sold, Rose had enough cash to last her a lifetime, even living on the highest standards.

But living wealthy previously had changed Rose. She preferred low-profile and comfortable, which was just fine to her.

They talked until sunrise, until the pot of coffee was long gone. They conversed about _Titanic_, obviously, though Rose tried to avoid that subject, and about their interests and hobbies, careers, dreams... The topics were endless.

Finally, Rose had to stand up. "I really enjoyed this," she smiled. Michael, too, rose from his seat. He took Rose's hand and kissed the top of it delicately. "And I, as well," he agreed. "Good day, Rose Dawson." He bid her farewell.

She had her hand on the doorknob when she had a sudden urge to turn. "Mr. Calvert—Michael—I was wondering if, perhaps, you'd like to do something like this, sometime?" she found herself saying. Michael chuckled. "Of course, Rose. Say, this Wednesday? Meet me here?"

Rose nodded. "Sure. Thank you, Michael." She felt as if she'd finally found some comfort in the world after Jack.

"It's a date! See you then!" At Michael's words, Rose's heart fluttered slightly.

She brought herself to open the door, and stepped out into the hallway. As she made her way back to her own room, a block away, she couldn't help thinking.

_Never let go._ That's what she had promised to Jack. She'd vowed to _Never let go._ And she hadn't planned on doing so, ever. But, then, why had she felt that sensation of utter happiness and security while talking to Michael Calvert, a man whom she'd just met that morning? Why had her heart fluttered when he'd said "It's a date!" It only meant an appointment; a meeting, not a true outing with a lover, not at all.

A wave of guilt overwhelmed her, surging over her like the Atlantic waters surged over _Titanic_ as the Ship of Dreams took its last breath. _No,_ she scolded herself. _No, you must not... You must not put yourself in this position, Rose!_ For some reason, her conscience seemed to take on the voice of her mother.

And, while her heart had possibly fluttered, it did not soar beyond the clouds as it had when Jack had held her hand, or clutched her waist delicately as they were "flying" over the ocean...

"_I've changed my mind."_

"_Do you trust me?"_

"_I'm flying!"_

"_Come, Josephine, in my flying machine, going up she goes, up she goes..."_

And their last words spoken to each other, as they clasped each other's hand...

" _I love you, Jack.__"__  
><em>_"Don't you do that, don't say your good-byes. Not yet, do you understand me?"_

"_I'm so cold."_

"_Listen, Rose. You're gonna get out of here, you're gonna go on and you're gonna make lots of babies, and you're gonna watch them grow. You're gonna die an old... an old lady warm in her bed, not here, not this night. Not like this, do you understand me?"_

"_I can't feel my body."_

"_Winning that ticket, Rose, was the best thing that ever happened to me... it brought me to you. And I'm thankful for that, Rose. I'm thankful. You must do me this honor. Promise me you'll survive. That you won't give up, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless. Promise me now, Rose, and never let go of that promise."_

"_I promise."_

"_Never let go."_

"_I'll never let go, Jack. I'll never let go."_

No. Certainly not Michael.

Again, her conscience; her mother's voice, _You must not put yourself in this position, Rose! _This was the only time she would actually oblige to make an exception for her mother's commands.

s


End file.
